A lesson in Russian at Zurich Airport
A lesson in Russian at Zurich Airport I was sitting on a plane from Moscow to Zurich. The flight attendants of Swiss Air had an average age of about fifty. Perhaps it was the airline’s policy not to hire younger women, so as not to confuse the male passengers. After Moscow, Zurich felt like a village. Few cities could be so different. The rich in Moscow showed how rich they were: limousines, fur coats, and private clubs shaped the city. At the same time, the poor rummaged through trash bins, looking for leftovers. Millions of people were on the move day and night. They lived every day as if it were the last day of their lives. In contrast to Moscow, people in Zurich lived as if they would remain on this earth forever. The pace of life there was reduced to a minimum. Everything was clean and polished. After 10 p.m. on weekdays, the city felt deserted. The Swiss disliked being disturbed and reacted with fear and skepticism to anything foreign that crossed their path. After all, with i...
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